Nightmares
by That'sSomeAvatarSmackTalk
Summary: "It's their first time together – or, it's supposed to be. Of course, they've been together for months, as a couple. But tonight is supposed to be their first time, their first night together." Makorra, Mako-centric oneshot. Mako has a nightmare on the first night he and Korra make love.


A/N: I know it's been a long time since I posted. Forgetting all that - here's a oneshot I wrote because I wanted to really get into Mako's character.

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><p>It's their first time together – or, it's supposed to be. Of course, they've been together for months, as a couple. But tonight is supposed to be their first time, their first night together. Mako has been nervous all day, trying to think of what to do with her; not just because he wants to please Korra, but because he wants her to be distracted. He doesn't want her to know. Part of him is angry that he can't just bask in the excitement of sharing his first time with a girl that he loves dearly – the most amazing girl he's ever known. That's the part of him that's always angry – the part hidden behind stoicism and disinterest.<p>

They have the apartment to themselves. Bolin is out with his new replacement Fire Ferrets, taking them for drinks as a team bonding exercise. With any luck, Bolin won't be back until they've … finished. They've shared a bed before – and Bolin won't think anything strange of it, if he happens to pop his head in to say goodnight.

The sky outside is dark, and outside, the city is covered in a blanket of early winter snow. The street is quiet, as the roads are iced over. There are candles lit in Mako's bedroom, because he's heard from some of the other beat cops that women really like romantic gestures. Korra reacts positively to it, with a tiny, surprised gasp, as she steps into the room ahead of him. He gently shuts the door behind himself.

"You really planned ahead," Korra turns to face him, her back to the bed, and for a moment, all he can think about is wrapping his arms around her and falling with her onto the mattress.

"Was that right?" he asks, wishing it didn't come out as insecure as it does.

Korra smiles at him and nods, still looking around. His throat is dry. His stomach is fluttering, his hands are clammy. She looks different in candlelight – many different shadows cast in different directions on her face. Her eyes shimmer a greener shade of blue in contrast to the orange light. Her cheeks are pinkish red, and he can almost imagine the heat coming off them by the way she starts to chew on her lower lip – she's just as nervous as he is. It's neither reassuring nor disconcerting.

She swallows and nervously offers him her hand. The motion is so careful that she has to follow it up, like only she could, with a headstrong phrase like, "Looking a little hot under the collar there, city boy," as he distractedly puts his hand in hers. She leads him back toward the bed.

"We're ready for this, right?" Mako hears himself asking, even as his chest hammers and his cheeks darken the way Korra's have, and he knows it sounds like he's a coward, but he's really asking. He doesn't even know if he's ready for this – if she's not one hundred per cent sure, then they need a rain check.

"Mm," Korra takes a step toward him, letting their linked hands fall to their sides as she presses herself against his body. He relaxes immediately. They kiss a lot – he knows the drill, here. Her chin tilts up invitingly, and he leans down to capture her lower lip slowly, revering each contour as his tongue passes over it. His eyes close and he sighs through his nose as they kiss, just as he feels her warm palm cupping the back of his neck.

She's so confusing, sometimes. Out in the world, she's tough and abrasive, and every part of her screams not to mess with the powerful Avatar Korra. And yet, sometimes she's so soft and open and modest that Mako wonders if she's even the same person. Part of him likes to think that he brings out the softness in her.

She breaks for air first, leaning back just a little bit and breathing in through wet, parted lips. "Mako," she whispers, her lips ghosting over his, and he can feel her thumb stroking the back of his hand, almost a tickling sensation.

He's nervous. Of course he is – but he also really desperately wants to make love to his amazing girlfriend. They're ready.

He lifts his free hand to her waist, sliding it along the fabric of her tight shirt, feeling the strength of the muscles underneath, tensed up, presumably in anxiety. Mako doesn't want her to be nervous anymore than he wants to be nervous himself. It seems to be a bit of an inevitability, however. He pulls her closer and gently presses his lips to the corner of her mouth.

Korra's fingers unravel from his, and she puts both hands to the planes of his chest, pushing him back a little. When he pulls back, she's got her eyes focused on his, but her hands are slowly undoing the buttons of his coat. Distractedly, he raises a hand from her waist and slides the scarf from around his neck, tossing it onto the dresser beside them. The last button of his coat slips out of its hole, and she slides her hands underneath and up to his shoulders. The coat slides off his arms and onto the floor.

She suddenly smirks a little, and drawls out, "It's a team effort, you know," as she snakes her hands around his neck and hops onto her toes to steal another kiss.

The nerves are starting to fizzle away, he thinks, and he smirks right back, against her lips. "You're absolutely right," he agrees, and slides his hands from her waist to the front of her hips, finding the knot in the belt of the pelt skirt she always wears.

She tips her hips away from him slightly, to give him room to untie it, and unbidden, the image of her leaning forward over a table passes into his mind. He tugs the knot undone and lets the pelt fall away, his head angling down to kiss her once more. With the pelt gone, he can feel a tiny sliver of her skin between her trousers and her shirt, hot and smooth under his fingertips, as they idly run along the bottom hem of the shirt. She shivers a little bit, breaking the kiss to giggle.

"Ticklish?" he queries, admittedly smug.

"A little," she answers simply, her hands unhooking behind his neck and sliding back down his chest. It's his turn to shiver, his nerves coming back as she takes the bottom hem of his shirt.

Deciding to distract her, Mako slides his fingers under her top, taking hold of it and sliding it up. As he does, she takes her hands away from him for the shirt to come off over her head, and then she is standing there in only her boots, trousers and sarashi. He can't help but rove the new, exposed flesh with his gaze, admiring the curve from her neck to her shoulder, the swell of her breasts under their wrappings, the smooth, toned muscles of her midriff.

When she touches him again, he feels her short fingernails against the inside of his wrists, and looks down to see her smiling, pulling off his fingerless gloves and tossing them over her shoulder. Then, she steps back and in an efficient kick-swipe method, removes her boots without even bending down, kicking them into the corner and wiggling her bare toes on the hardwood floor.

Mako decides this is also a good time to take off his own boots, and steps toward the bed and sits down, lifting one foot onto his knee and unzipping it quickly. He tosses it against the wall with little ceremony, and does the same with the other one. He's about to stand and resume undressing Korra when her knee lands on the bed, just outside his own. The other lands on the outside of his other thigh, and a second later, she is kneeling above his lap.

"Maybe we should've done some practice runs," Korra's voice is soft and breathy in the shell of his ear, and what she's saying is very practical, and she's right – if they'd gotten … naked, together, before this, then it wouldn't be such a big deal right now. The way she says it, though, is somehow tantalizing, and Mako can feel that his trousers and underwear are getting steadily more restrictive.

He grunts under his breath, before murmuring her name. She sinks down onto his lap, through their trousers, and for a moment, he thinks he can feel her heat against him, and groans, leaning forward and capturing the skin of her collarbone in his mouth. He doesn't think he's ever even seen her collarbones before. Her skin is salty, and tastes faintly of lavender. Korra's hands grasp his shirt and he gasps against her skin, as she gracelessly tugs it up and off over his head.

He doesn't want her to see it.

Mako slides his arms around her waist, and somehow, with one swift motion, he stands up beneath her, grabs her thighs and braces them around his hips, spinning and then leans down and lays her out on the bed. His white shirt is still held in one of her fists, but on her back, she pauses, watching him with a eager, but nervous, anticipation, lips parted and pink, cheeks the same shade – blue eyes bright and shimmering in the dim light. How can a person even be as wonderful as she is, he wonders.

He leans his weight onto his knee, pressed into the mattress, and leans down to kiss her, his bare palm cupping her cheek, thumb running along the line of her jaw.

Korra smiles briefly, before she tilts her head to get to his lips quicker, raising her hands to touch his skin. She can't see it, like this. Laid out like this, she can't see his back. He'll keep her like this, he decides. One of her hands strokes the side of his throat gently, and he moans into her mouth, before gasping a little as her other hand finds his ribs – slides back, toward it.

He grabs the hand before he can stop himself. Her lips go still against his, and he pulls back a little to look at her face. Her features are screwed in confusion, and he's holding her by the wrist, pinning her hand to the mattress beside her. She swallows and smirks a little. "Down, boy," she laughs, before wriggling her hand free, and reaching again...

"Korra," Mako starts, his breathing quickening, and he moves to grab her hand again.

Korra frowns at him, full-on this time. "Don't grab me," she snatches her hand away to her chest, and she starts to sit up, looking a little bit upset.

Mako has given her the wrong idea. He feels his features twisting, and then he goes entirely still and says slowly, "I'm sorry. I'm just … nervous."

Korra lets herself sink back down again, and he can see it's hard for her to relax again. She lets her features slacken a little, then smiles hesitantly and replies, "Me too," with a small, self-conscious laugh. He smiles back, just as nervous, and she returns her hand to his throat, stroking gently. "Are we … do you want to stop?" she sounds a little reluctant.

Mako really doesn't want to stop, but he restrains himself and answers, "Do you?"

Korra's smile manages to turn mischievous again. "Not really," she grins then, and it reminds him of how she looks right before she battles her worst enemies – that determined look that screams, 'I'm going to win'. She raises her head a little and pecks him gently on the corner of his mouth. It's reassuring. She's Korra, he thinks. Korra is amazing, and she loves him, and he loves her too.

But even Bolin doesn't know what he has on his back.

Korra's fingers tentatively touch the skin of his waist, and pauses there. She moves them a fraction of an inch further, and pauses again. He's itching with discomfort – his instinct is to stop her, but he's forcing himself not to. She flattens her fingers and palm over his skin, emboldened, and slides her hand around him and across his back.

And then she stops.

He pulls back and meets her eyes, and she stares into his, confused. He swallows thickly and suddenly blurts, "It's just a scar."

Korra frowns a little, and on his other side, she takes the hand on his throat and puts that around him too, feeling the rough, puckered skin on his back with a continually more concerned expression. "It's … it's so big," she says slowly, then stops, studying his features.

He can tell she wants to ask where he got it – he knows. He knows her, and he knows how curiosity works, and he just knows. But she doesn't.

She kisses him instead.

And he kisses her back, and suddenly, he doesn't feel nervous at all.

* * *

><p>"... We should stop in the market and get something for Bolin," his mother is saying distractedly, "He'll be grumpy if you give Mako your scarf and don't give anything to him."<p>

Mako is walking between his parents, one hand held tightly in his mother's the other in his father's. It's a cold winter night in Republic City, and the frost has claimed most of the city's walls. His nose is red, and his fingers are cold – but inside his mother's palm, they heat up. He's going to learnt to do that, one day – when she teaches him to firebend. He can't wait.

"Why don't we get him the damn ferret thing – it's not going to cause any trouble, and he really likes them," his father answers pensively, swinging Mako's hand idly.

His mother chuckles, "And you can clean up after it," as they turn into the shortcut they take every night from their store to the apartment. Bolin is with the babysitter, but Mako likes to go to the shop with them sometimes. He holds doors for people and helps them find what they're looking for.

"It's going to poop in the house," Mako pipes up, wrinkling his nose and looking up at them.

"Yeah, it's gonna poop in the house," his mother agrees teasingly.

"Oh, come on – growing up, we had pets left, right and center," his father chuckles out, "and we never-," he suddenly stops speaking and walking, eyes fixed up ahead. Mako looks to his mother, who is also suddenly still and silent, and she's looking up ahead, too.

Mako looks, and there's a man coming their way, in ragged clothing, with messy hair and a crazy look in his eye. A shiver of fear passes through him, and he lets go of his mother's hand to shuffle into the space behind his father's legs, still holding onto his callused hand.

The man stops a few feet from them, and holds out a hand. "Hey there," the man says amicably, but then a fireball curls up in the man's palm, and Mako flinches behind his father, as both of his parents jump. "Out for a little stroll tonight?" the firebender asks, his voice suddenly menacing.

"We don't want any trouble," Mako's father says firmly, and he starts reaching into his pockets for his money.

The firebender grins at them, his tongue lapping at his teeth as if he is enjoying their fear. "That's good," the man's fireball flares up, and Mako flinches again. There's a beat of silence, and the man takes a step toward them. "Hand over all your money," the man narrows his eyes over his crooked grin.

"Alright, just … just don't hurt us, okay?" Mako's father takes out his wallet and opens it.

"Toss the wallet, buddy," the man snaps.

Mako's father hesitates only briefly, but then does it. Mako looks over to his mother and sees her reluctantly tossing her purse to the mugger.

"That's all we have," she suddenly says, bitterness clear in her voice.

The man stoops and in one motion, picks up both the purse and the wallet then stands aside and lets the flame go out in his hand. He smiles crookedly and gestures for them to be on their merry way. Slowly, Mako's father starts to move that way, with Mako in tow, and his mother right behind him. For a moment, he thinks they'll all go home and everything will be alright.

But before they can get past the firebender, Mako's father is thrown back against the brick wall of the alley, shouting out as a fireball hits him in the neck. Mako is thrown down as his father's legs tangled with his own. He clambers onto his hands and knees, finding himself at his father's side, grabbing his dad's jacket. Blood is spilling out of him, but a second later there's another flash and his mother screeches aloud. Mako jumps and screams once more, looking up and seeing her falling onto her knees, clutching her stomach, where fire is licking the cloth around the new, scorched hole in her dress – and her belly.

"Mom!" Mako cries out, feeling saltwater burning in his eyes.

His eyes flash between his father, limp, beside him, and his mother, crumpled over his father's legs, wailing weakly – saying his name, and _run, Mako, get away._

"Nothing personal, kid," that terrifying voice says, and Mako tears his gaze from his parents up to the man who cut them down, tears spilling down his cheeks and his throat tightening. The man is holding another ball of flame, and the eight year old can see himself already, lying in a heap with his parents.

"Mako, _run!" _his mother moans in pain.

A second later, he's somehow on his feet. He takes one long leap, and all he can think is that he needs to get a doctor, or a healer, to help his parents-

But then he screams out in pain, as fire scorches his back and throws him to the ground. He hears his mom, still moaning, as he crashes to the concrete and gasps out. He can't even believe how much it hurts. He goes down, feels his chin hit the ground. He's limp for a moment, and he wants to grab his back and scream for help, but he can't believe … a minute ago, they were just walking home.

He lies still. It's the only thing he can think to do. He lets his head loll on the ground, makes his face relax, and pretends that he's dead. His back is on fire, but he stays still.

"Such a shame," he hears the firebender drawling disinterestedly, and Mako very nearly jumps when there another rush of fire. He doesn't hear his mother moaning anymore, and he bites his tongue inside his mouth as fresh tears slip down his cheeks.

The man's footsteps approach him, and he holds his breath, sprawled on the ground with his back on fire. The shadow of the mugger's foot falls over his face as he walks past him. He stays still for a long time, listening as the footsteps click on the ground, away from him. They finally fall silent, and he finally breathes.

It's another minute before he dares to lift his head, and blink open his eyes. He looks back to his parents, and starts to sob out, _mom, dad, _and crawls toward them, crying harder at every movement he makes, and how his back screams with every single one. They don't answer, and he lays his head on his father's lap, and his hand on his mother's head, and cries for the longest time.

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><p>"Mako, you're okay," Korra's voice is soothing him gently, repeatedly. "Mako, wake up."<p>

He forces open his eyes, his whole face screwed up and tears across his cheeks and temples. He's not eight – but nineteen. He's not in the alley, but in his bed with Korra, who's watching him with big, worried eyes. He's breathing hard and suddenly swiping at his face, sitting up and threading his fingers through his short hair. Korra places a hand on his bare back, and he flinches.

She takes her hand away, sitting up next to him, holding the sheet over her chest. They're naked, in his bed. The room is lit only by moonlight that passes through the window, all his candles having burned out. The scene is familiar – Korra has nightmares all the time. She doesn't usually stir in her sleep, but he's known her to wake up suddenly in the night, sit in silence and then try to slink away to cry on her own. He's embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just ..." he sniffs sharply, hunching over his knees, "I'm sorry."

Korra watches him with a peculiar expression. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," she says, her tone firm. She falls silent for a moment, and out the corner of his eye, he can see her hand hovering over his shoulder. She wants to comfort him, but she doesn't know how. Finally, she puts a hand on his bicep, her skin cool against his sweat. "Do you want to talk?" she asks quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

Mako shakes his head. He does not want to talk.

Korra nods, "Okay," and starts to stroke his arm soothingly. "You're alright," she murmurs quietly, resting her head against his shoulder. "You're safe."

A shaky sigh escapes his lungs, and he tilts his head to rest it against hers. He wants to calm down, and go to sleep, and pretend this didn't happen. Except, a moment later, his face is contorting and his eyes are burning again. He hates the feeling, and he hides his face in his hands, but then he's shaking and sobbing and as hard as he tries to stop it, he can't.

"I'm sorry, I can't ..." he tries to say, but she shushes him.

"It's okay, Mako," she says reassuringly – perhaps, tiredly. "You're allowed to cry."

And so he does. He cries long, and hard, and none of it is pretty – certainly not easy for Korra to watch, but when he finally manages to lie back down again, sure that he's worked it out of his system, he feels lighter. He feels better. He returns to sleep, curled in on himself on his side, with Korra curled up behind him with her arm draped around him protectively. Part of him feels silly for taking so much comfort in her holding him the way he usually holds her – but he does feel better.

She's already asleep, but he takes her hand, where it's curled around him, raises it, and kisses her knuckles thankfully.

And then he joins her in sleep.


End file.
